


Bruises Make For Better Conversations

by boonies



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin's always saying if he could do it all over again, he'd be just a regular guy. He wakes up one day as just a regular guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

*

 

"You're so full of shit."

 

Changmin shrugs. "We're born full of shit and we die full of shit."

 

The car pitches over a pothole, shoving Yunho closer. "You'd miss this, all of it."

 

Changmin's tired.

 

He's so fucking tired of everything. The fans, the rehearsals, the weather, the lack of sleep, the lack of food, no privacy, no free days, long days, shitty days, limitations and warnings and rules. He's just _done_ and he wasn't fucking lying an hour ago when the interviewer asked him, for the millionth fucking time, 'Changmin-ssi, if you weren't an idol, what would you want to be.'

 

"You'd miss singing," Yunho says quietly, and Changmin doesn't know who he's trying to convince. "You'd miss the stage."

 

"I wouldn't miss anything," Changmin says with eerie calm.

 

Yunho is silent for a long moment.

 

"You'd miss me," he offers.

 

Their driver stops at a red light. The engine stalls over a puddle. Raindrops pelt the roof of the car.

 

Changmin has a headache.

 

He's had a headache for a year.

 

"I wouldn't miss you at all," he says, puts in his earbuds, crosses his arms, and curls into his side of the seat.

 

Roughly, Yunho yanks the earbuds out. "What the hell is wrong with you."

 

Changmin's _tired_.

 

"I'm just sick of it," he says. "I'm sick of everything." He pauses, shaking. "I'm sick of _you_."

 

He wants to rewind, wants to take the words back the moment they leave his lips but he's too tired to try.

 

He's too tired to look at Yunho.

 

So he stares out the window, sticks his earbuds back in, and says, loudly, over the music, "I'm gonna stay with my parents tonight."

 

*

 

He wakes up at 8:39 AM.

 

Which is a little messed up.

 

Not only because it means he slept for, like, eleven hours, but because no one woke him up.

 

Generally, he gets a shitload of sleep at his parents' house because they're not Yunho and they don't drag him out of bed at unholy hours for _interviews, Changminnie, practice, this and that and the other fucking thing._

 

But still, no one waking him up is kinda weird.

 

Yunho's probably trying to give him space, but yeah. A text message or two, come on. At least a _you're an asshole, see you in practice_.

 

Something.

 

But his phone didn't wake him up so Yunho didn't text him and that's fine, whatever, who gives a shit.

 

Groggy, half-blind, and thoroughly annoyed, Changmin sits up, gropes for his phone, and stuffs it in his pajama pocket out of habit.

 

It feels oddly bulky in his palm but everything feels off when he's out of the dorms.

 

His bed's lumpy and his room's too bright and there's approximately forty knots in his shoulders and twelve in his neck but it's fine.

 

This is... home.

 

The dorm he shares with Yunho is not.

 

...shit.

 

Guilt and regret wash over him in waves but he pushes them down as far as they can go and drags himself downstairs.

 

Breakfast's laid out on the table, sort of haphazardly. His parents are nowhere to be seen, and his sisters are sprawled on the rug in front of the TV, hearts in their eyes.

 

"Yah, did you eat my share," he grumbles, gesturing angrily at half a bun with teethmarks.

 

Both of his sisters wave him off with a disrespectful chorus of: "Shut up, Inkigayo's starting!" and "Aaaah, Yunho-oppa~" and Changmin blinks, baffled.

 

Why would his sisters be watching Inkigayo?

 

He and Yunho didn't record anything for the show this week, so...

 

"I'm cool with you fangirling over other groups," he starts, eyeing the hardened rice in his bowl, "but—"

 

"Seriously, _be quiet_ ," Sooyeon whines and tosses a heavy decorative pillow at his head.

 

Jiyeon pats her butt in encouragement and turns up the volume.

 

Pissed off, Changmin punts the pillow back at them, and accidentally glances at the TV.

 

And then his stomach drops.

 

There's a bunch of scrolling text but all Changmin can see is Jaejoong.

 

Which... makes sense now that the lawsuit is over, but.

 

Frazzled, Changmin looks away.

 

His heart's a wreck and he's not even hungry anymore and he suddenly misses Yunho.

 

Yunho, who didn't even fucking warn him JYJ were allowed back on TV.

 

An unfamiliar melody starts up on screen, a heavy bass pounding low in his chest, and Changmin forces himself to look.

 

The lighting is terrible as usual and everyone's silhouetted and then the song title slowly fades in.

 

Above it, there's a tiny English script and all it says is:

 

JY2.

 

JY... what now.

 

Changmin narrows his eyes at the TV and yeah, the captioning definitely says JY _squared_ , which is not right. Unless JYJ somehow added a fourth member overnight but they're such an obnoxiously exclusive little clique, always have been, always will be, that it seems unlikely they'd—

 

Whatever.

 

Changmin's still pissed off at Yunho but he takes out his phone, ready to be all like, "Hey, loser hyungs are being weird again."

 

Except his phone looks strange.

 

It's an old beat-up Samsung with a smudge in one corner of the screen.

 

Changmin scrubs at it, stomach twisting.

 

Bile rises in his throat when he hits speed dial and Yunho's name is not there. Frantic, he fumbles and taps wildly until the phone scrolls through his entire contacts list but Yunho's name's not there. It's not anywhere.

 

There's nothing under Jung or Hyung or Idiot or Wife or Leader or Fucking Asshole Who's Not In My Fucking Phone.

 

Changmin's heart is pounding against his ribcage so hard he needs to sit down.

 

There's nothing in his head except white noise and then Sooyeon yawns, bored, "Oppa, are you dying?"

 

Changmin might be.


	2. Chapter 2

Changmin knows Yunho's number.

 

He knows the right combination of digits because he's programmed it into every phone he's ever had.

 

He just fucking _knows_.

 

But when he dials this right combination, no matter how many times, Yunho doesn't pick up. The number feeds into some small business in Guro, where a very annoyed receptionist keeps disconnecting the call.

 

So Changmin bolts upstairs, locks himself in his room, turns on the nearest computer, and pulls up a browser, dizzy and queasy and numb.

 

He doesn't even know where to fucking start so he just types TVXQ into the search bar.

 

The first result is a video on daum, dated 2006.

 

With trembling fingers, Changmin clicks.

 

It takes forever to buffer and load because his laptop seems to be an old piece of shit with keys missing and an operating system from the dark ages but then the video finally starts and Changmin's stomach curls in on itself with an unpleasant twinge.

 

It's not a familiar song but the beat is typical SM fare, back when it was actually original and innovative and bold. This particular video seems to be from an old live performance and it's a bit of a potato-cam, but the stage is huge, larger than Changmin remembers Tokyo Dome being, bigger than anything he's seen in years.

 

From the darkness, several spotlights click to the beat of the song's intro.

 

A huge cascade of lasers spells out a blindingly bright _DONG—_

 

Yunho leaps through the glittering curtain of light.

 

_BANG—_

 

Jaejoong rises on a platform.

 

_SHIN—_

 

Yoochun ascends from a thick sweeping fog.

 

_KI._

 

The spotlight shines on Junsu, bright like fire.

 

Changmin's going to throw up.

 

That's not... that's not the fucking formation. That's not how it goes and it's not how it was or is and it's not. It's not. It's not right.

 

Nothing is right.

 

Frantic, he waits and waits and waits for another person, a fifth silhouette, _himself_ , to show up.

 

The video loops for the third time before Changmin stops waiting.

 

He tabs back and opens a new page; an article in Japanese. Shaking, he skims the introductory paragraph and barely registers sentences like— _all four members filed a lawsuit against the company in 2007_ and _served their compulsory military service during the hiatus_ and _successful comeback in 2009_.

 

For a moment, hysterical laughter bubbles up and Changmin thinks wow, fucking hackers and trolls really outdid themselves this time, but then he opens a billion pages and starts reading and stops, starts and stops, can't go past the recurrent first line: _TVXQ was a four member band_ —

 

His body gives him just enough time to yank the door open and stumble into the bathroom where he bends over the toilet and empties his stomach all over the porcelain tiles.

 

*

 

He naps against the tub.

 

For maybe ten minutes or four hours, mind racing and blank all at once.

 

These things don't happen. This isn't some makjang drama or a manhwa or a fucking children's fable.

 

He can't just wake up and not exist as Choikang Changmin, as Max.

 

He can't.

 

He can't just coincidentally become a regular guy after complaining that he wants to be a regular guy.

 

That's not... that can't happen.

 

Heart pounding, Changmin lifts up a hand to feel his face. His forehead is cold and clammy and his lips are chapped like a motherfuck and this can't be happening, seriously, how can this be happening.

 

He forces himself to stand up. Steadies himself against the sink. Glances at the mirror.

 

His hair is a mess. The fringe is dark and uneven and the ends look split and neglected and this isn't his hair. His hair is shiny and beautiful and lovingly styled by gossipy noonas.

 

With a sharp exhale, Changmin runs a calloused hand down his face.

 

His fucking skin. His skin is rough and patchy and there's a fucking zit on his forehead and a line of fucking acne scars down the side of his jaw.

 

This is not his goddamn fucking skin.

 

And this isn't his collection of skincare because he doesn't just have some shitty little aftershave by the sink. He has an armada of products, best of the best, lining his dresser and all the bathroom counters and sometimes there's even special toners and moisturizers in the fridge and Yunho makes fun of him all the fucking time—

 

Yunho.

 

Changmin's eyes widen.

 

Yunho can't see him like this.

 

No one can see him like this.

 

After a panicky beat, Changmin stares at his reflection for a long moment.

 

And then it hits him. No one would care. In this world, this universe, this whatever the fuck it is, Yunho apparently doesn't know him. Fangirls don't know him. The media doesn't know him.

 

He's Shim Changmin, regular dude.

 

He can walk down the street in his pajamas. He can do and say whatever he wants.

 

He's just... normal.

 

*

 

It takes Changmin two hours to acquaint himself with this new life.

 

He checks his room and phone and computer for clues and everything's just so ridiculously normal and easy.

 

He's a student with regular classes. Judging by the photos next to his headboard, he's done with army. His calendar is filled sporadically with circled dates and vapid comments like _ask boss for a raise_ and _econ paper due_.

 

Everything else is the same. His parents, his sisters, his house.

 

But Mangdoongie doesn't exist, apparently, and his phone is kind of empty.

 

There's no mile-long text threads from Yunho.

 

No folder full of Yunho making ugly faces.

 

No missed calls Changmin purposefully let go to voicemail.

 

But whatever.

 

Changmin's a winner.

 

Changmin can adapt to anything and everything.

 

And this is what he wanted. What he... wants. Yeah. This is good.

 

Resolute, he changes into a pair of threadbare jeans and slips into a nintendo hoodie and grabs for the door.

 

He pauses for a moment before he turns the knob.

 

When he walks out into the hallway, he's going to officially be just Shim Changmin.

 

He's going to be like everyone else.

 

He's going to be a regular guy.

 

For a brief moment, his chest and head feel light. All the stress and pressure and fear of failure wash away. The fatigue disappears.

 

For a moment, things feel _right_.

 

*

 

Four hours into his new life, Changmin caves.

 

He's strolling down the street, totally ignored by everyone he passes and munching on a fishstick when he spots his favorite cosmetics store.

 

The ladies inside are closing up since it's after five on a Sunday but surely they won't mind staying open a couple minutes longer for him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time someone's made that allowance.

 

He shoves the rest of the food in his mouth and tosses the stick into a corner cigarette bin, then saunters into the store like he owns it.

 

"Ah," one of the women greets him, clearly struggling to stay polite, "we're actually closed already, so—"

 

Changmin's a little ruffled by the attitude but whatever. He can just quickly get his favorite moisturizer and she can get on with her life and everything's gonna work out. No need for drama.

 

Impatiently, he clicks his tongue to his lips and grabs the small pretty box off the premier shelf then tosses it to the register.

 

The lady gives him an unimpressed glare.

 

But she rings him up and holds out a palm for payment.

 

Changmin reaches into his wallet and hands her his credit card with a grin.

 

The card comes back denied.

 

*

 

He's noticeably more subdued on Monday morning.

 

He shuffles into class, unbearably self-aware. He found the right room even though he's not familiar with this university, even though it's the middle of the semester, even though he has no idea what's going on.

 

But Changmin is smart. He was the smartest in his group. He was a veritable genius. He was way smarter than Junsu and—

 

His stomach cramps up.

 

Irritated, he grabs an empty seat and buries his nose in a textbook.

 

"Yo, did you study," some kid asks casually, slumping into the chair next to him.

 

Wary, Changmin eyes him for a moment, then decides to wing it. "Sure. What for?"

 

The kid gives him a nonplussed look. "Oh, just... you know. The exam?"

 

Which is apparently today because the professor's handing out essay sheets and Changmin's fucked.

 

*

 

By Wednesday, Changmin's sick.

 

He's running a high-grade fever and he can't get out of bed.

 

He hasn't eaten in a day because food doesn't taste all that great when he's not stealing it off Yunho's plate. And his eyes are burning hot but he's trying to finish some homework shit a nameless, faceless classmate emailed him and it's all just really fucking boring.

 

Usually, he'd be in practice by now or getting ready to MC or yelling at Yunho about the shoe tracks—

 

Nope.

 

That's not a thing that happened, Changmin decides.

 

Yelling about shoes and toothpaste and texts was a thing he made up and _this_ is his real life and everything's fine.

 

Somehow, his fingers open up a new naver window.

 

But whatever, naver's good. Naver's okay. Naver has information he needs for his homework.

 

So why the fuck are Changmin's fingers searching for JY2 videos.

 

He closes the tab quickly.

 

Seven words into a paragraph about ecosystems and some other unimportant bullshit, Changmin finds himself typing _yunjae_ into the search bar.

 

2,700,000 results in under .29 seconds.

 

Changmin's chest tightens painfully.

 

He ignores it and types in _homin_.

 

The search engine gives him a spelling suggestion instead. _Did you mean hoho: the relationship between Jung Yunho from JY_ _2_ _and Choi Minho from SHINee?_

 

Changmin goes back to his homework.

 

It doesn't matter. None of this shit is any of his fucking business. He doesn't care.

 

Eleven nonsensical sentences later and Changmin's back to the search results. He filters by video and year and angrily loads an interview from two weeks ago.

 

"As the last of our members to release a solo album," Yunho is saying with a grin so bright Changmin wants to break a window, "I'm a little nervous about how my first single will be received, but I hope everyone can enjoy it—"

 

He babbles for ages with some weird-ass poster in the background; talks about what the song means to him and what inspired him to write this album and Changmin keeps waiting to hear any version of Changminnie or Changdola or Min-ah or something, _anything_.

 

But there's nothing.

 

There's just Yunho.

 

Yunho who loves his members, his brothers Jaejoong and Yoochun and Junsu, loves them so so so much, is forever grateful to them, can't live without them.

 

Changmin's eyes are burning so fucking bad because of the goddamn fucking fever and the homework and the dry air.

 

He should nap and finish his paper and eat something.

 

He hits repeat instead.

 

*

 

For a week, Changmin goes to school.

 

He doesn't complain.

 

He settles in.

 

But then on Sunday, he finds himself stomping down the street, eyeing a hot little audi parked by a street vendor, and suddenly realizes where his feet are taking him.

 

The studio.

 

The dorms.

 

The place where Yunho doesn't even live anymore and where no one would recognize Changmin anyway. Not Kyu. Not Minho. _No one_ would know him. They'd think he was some psycho, barreling in all, _I live here in an alternate universe, hi_.

 

Frustrated, he drags himself home and collapses on the couch.

 

"I need money," Sooyeon says, plopping down next to him.

 

This, at least, is familiar.

 

Except he doesn't have money to give her.

 

"What for," he asks instead, faceplanting into a couch cushion.

 

With a loud whine, Sooyeon shakes him loose. "There's a fanmeet Jiyeon and me wanna go to, why can't we go, why won't you give us money, why are you the worst—"

 

Changmin bats her off sleepily. "What? Which fanmeet?"

 

Undeterred, Sooyeon pouts down at him. "Yunho-oppa and Junsu-oppa are having a—"

 

Changmin sits up so fast his neck almost snaps.

 

Sooyeon blinks, steadying herself.

 

"When's the meet," Changmin asks, tripping over the words, mouth suddenly dry.

 

Worried, Sooyeon backs off a little. "Um, maybe I'll just go ask appa—"

 

" _When is it_ ," Changmin repeats with a scowl, pawing for Jiyeon's abandoned laptop. He flips it open so hard the hinges creak. "Is it just Yunho and Junsu?"

 

Sooyeon makes a face. "Oppa, what the hell, seriously."

 

Changmin ignores her.

 

He doesn't really know where to look for this kind of shit but the official website should probably have some sort of—

 

The server crashes the second Changmin clicks on ticket information.

 

"Yep," Sooyeon eulogizes with a deep, suffering sigh, "that seems about right." She stands up, sniffling. "I guess I'll go tell Jiyeon we won't be going to this one, either."

 

She shuffles off and Changmin hits reload until the system gives him a warning and then, finally, a notification that the event has been sold out.

 

*

 

During family dinner on Saturday, Changmin drops his chopsticks.

 

Without a word, he grabs for his phone and loads mnet.

 

His father gives him a concerned look, nudging a pot of noodles closer.

 

Changmin's too busy searching for Yunho's single to notice.

 

He scrolls down the digital sales charts and finds the song trending.

 

Which is the only reason he downloads it.

 

It's such a stupid, hysterically inappropriate title that Changmin has to excuse himself from the table.

 

He crawls into bed and grabs a pair of headphones.

 

He falls asleep listening to _Without U_.

 

*

 

This is... fine.

 

He's not doing this because he misses Yunho.

 

He doesn't miss him at all, honestly.

 

He just... needs to quickly scout out the situation and just, like, confirm that this regular guy shit is for real and that Yunho doesn't know him and that's it.

 

That's all.

 

He's not going to a fanmeet for which he doesn't even have a ticket just because it's been almost two weeks since he's seen Yunho's stupid face. Or just because Yunho's single's been playing on his phone and his computer so much the hit counter broke.

 

No, that would be insane.

 

Changmin's not insane.

 

He's not secretly hoping Yunho orchestrated all this just to teach him a lesson about taking things for granted.

 

Fuck.

 

Okay, so maybe Changmin's losing his mind a little.

 

But at least he knows some tricks. He knows where to look for an opening. He knows when to show up. He knows how to bypass security.

 

...or not.

 

A horde of fangirls violently brushes him aside, almost runs him over in front of the auditorium, glitter-covered placards ruthlessly smacking him in the face.

 

"Ugh, another fanboy," one of the fangirls groans, looking him up and down.

 

"Why does Yunho-oppa have soooo many," another one complains, huffing away.

 

Frazzled, Changmin rights himself.

 

His pride is taking a serious beating but just... he just needs one glance. Just to settle things and move on and properly accept this thing, this normal life he's wanted for the past ten years.

 

He'll just allow himself one glance.

 

One's gonna be enough.

 

There's a sudden cacophony of shrieks and this, _this_ is definitely familiar, so Changmin strains his ears and rises on his toes to look over the multitude of swarming fangirls. The hallway beyond the ticket takers fills with a mass of bodies in record time and a million flashes go off at once.

 

Changmin shields his eyes then belatedly realizes none of the cameras are pointed at him.

 

They're all pointed at Yunho and Junsu.

 

They're both wearing casual clothes, hair spiked up and sharp. Junsu's grinning at the crowd, giving them a little royal wave, and Yunho...

 

Yunho's walking by Junsu's side, exuding a calm kind of confidence and an effortless sort of charm and Changmin feels his knees buckle.

 

Shit, he thinks, and leans against the wall.

 

For some stupid reason, he wants to say he's sorry and he's learned his lesson and _let's go home_.

 

But the crowds part a little and Yunho walks by, smiling politely.

 

Changmin's breath hitches.

 

He's tall enough for Yunho to easily notice him.

 

Yunho's going to notice him.

 

He's going to notice him in two seconds.

 

Breathless, Changmin fixes his gaze on Yunho's face.

 

Yunho turns.

 

Their eyes meet.

 

...and then Yunho just glosses over him, zero recognition.

 

*

 

 

Changmin sits in the empty auditorium long after everyone's left.

 

The lights are dimmed and the cleaning crew is ignoring him as he vegetates in the last row, head buried in his hands, legs cramped in the narrow aisle.

 

His mind is full of things, questions, worries.

 

And he feels so tiny and horrible he can barely lift his head.

 

How can he be this easily replaced or written out or over. How can he be this... insignificant. How can things still exist for Yunho when they don't exist for Changmin. How is the world still turning.

 

Fuck.

 

Changmin's head is pounding so he stands up, unsteady.

 

Angry and hurt and feeling so fucking alone, he glances at the nearest poster.

 

Yunho's smug face stares back.

 

Changmin slaps a palm to it and touches his forehead to the wall, exhaling.

 

When he first met Yunho, Changmin tried to do the whole fake cocky thing but he was truly terrified so he bowed repeatedly and probably stammered and looked ridiculous. And Yunho just looked at him for the longest time, gaze soft, and dropped all formalities and mumbled something about maknae puppies and then Changmin was just somehow always stuck to his side.

 

Today, Yunho didn't even acknowledge him.

 

Changmin was just another face in a sea of others.

 

He wasn't even on Yunho's radar.

 

Changmin straightens, cold.

 

So what.

 

So fucking what.

 

This is what Changmin wanted. What he wants. He wants school and sleep and freedom. His own schedule. His own decisions. His own life.

 

Losing Yunho in the process is no big deal.

 

Spitefully, Changmin rips the poster off the wall on his way out.

 

*

 

It's 2 AM and he's tossing and turning, furious.

 

He needs to sleep because he's got an early morning class and then he's got his super part-time once-a-month job but his brain is sadistic. It keeps flashing bits and pieces of his life—his old life—and punctuates them with that blank look Yunho gave him.

 

So Changmin tries counting sheep, then cars, then soshis, but his mind keeps jumping topics, assaulting him with parts of dialogue, things he should've shouted at Yunho, the perfect sequence of words to make him stop in his tracks and pay attention.

 

No, shit, fuck. Fuck this. Who cares.

 

Changmin burrows under the covers with a frown.

 

He's going to sleep.

 

He's going to fall asleep right now.

 

...what if there's tattoos, though.

 

He sits up, nostrils flaring.

 

What if Yunho got a tattoo like Jaejoong and Yoochun. What if he tattooed their names above his heart. What if that happened.

 

Changmin grabs for his phone and types in _jung yunho tattoo._

 

And then his heart sinks.

 

There a cropped image as the top result. It's Yunho's chest. The left side, right under the soft curve of muscle. A tidy little scroll of names.

 

Changmin squints, heart throbbing with a deepening ache.

 

He touches his fingers to the phone and enlarges the picture.

 

It's weirdly pixelated and Changmin waits for the image to clear up but it doesn't.

 

A tiny bit of glee wraps around his heart.

 

Photoshopped.

 

This shit is photoshopped.

 

Maybe, probably, hopefully.

 

Changmin tosses his phone to the pillow and scrambles out of bed.

 

Okay, alright.

 

Maybe it's photoshopped and maybe it's real.

 

Maybe he'll just have to find out for himself.

 

*

 

Changmin's a sasaeng.

 

He's a fucking _sasaeng_.

 

He needed therapy because of them and now he _is_ one, shit.

 

Mortified, he tightens the hoodie around his face and glances around.

 

Dawn's barely breaking and the street's bathed in that too familiar orange glow. His breath mists over as he glances at his phone.

 

He feels creepy and dirty and wrong standing in front of what he knows is a discreet management house. He's stayed here before. It's one of many private homes scattered across the city, designed specifically to room and board transient idols.

 

Geographically, it's the closest one to yesterday's meet, so Yunho and Junsu probably stayed overnight.

 

Or went home.

 

Because maybe they have separate homes and houses and apartments.

 

Or maybe they live together.

 

Changmin shakes the thought loose, cold seeping into his bones.

 

This is messed up.

 

He should just go home and then to class. He should let this shit go. It's seriously not any of his business anymore.

 

He turns to leave but a large decked out van pulls up on the other side of the road.

 

Changmin freezes in his tracks.

 

His pulse quickens.

 

He watches as the gate across the street opens and several bundled up figures amble out. Junsu's easily recognizable with his crazy red hair and his loud kitten yawning. The others are probably handlers. They pile into the van quickly.

 

There's no Yunho, though.

 

Annoyed and strangely relieved, Changmin stuffs his hands into his pockets and sets off down the street.

 

"Wait, yah, _wait_ ," Yunho calls out, voice rough with sleep.

 

Changmin's feet obey.

 

Slowly, he turns his head.

 

Yunho's jogging down a short flight of stairs, bounding toward the van, last one out of the house.

 

Junsu waves a playful hand through the tinted van window and locks him out.

 

Yunho chuckles and pulls at the door handle.

 

"Come on, it's too early for this," he says with a sleepy grin.

 

Changmin stares.

 

Yunho's hair is sleep-mussed and he hasn't shaved and a big fluffy scarf is haphazardly hanging off his neck.

 

Changmin's crossing the street before he can think it through.

 

"Junsu-yah," Yunho whines, rattling the handle, "we're gonna be—" He notices Changmin and lets go of the car door, startled. "Shit."

 

Changmin can't speak.

 

He's had a whole speech planned out and prepared but he can't open his mouth.

 

He's spoken to Yunho basically every day for the past ten years, which amounts to roughly at least four thousand conversations, but now he's tongue-tied and stupid.

 

All that comes out is a quiet, "I know you."

 

Yunho pats himself on the chest, still recovering. "Oh, sorry, hi, sorry. You just... scared the crap out of me, sorry. Pretend I didn't cuss." He smiles politely but it's a guarded kind of smile. "It's always good to meet a fan?"

 

Changmin gives him a feral look.

 

Instantly, Yunho's smile fades.

 

The car window rolls down and Junsu pokes his head out with an irritated huff. "Oh my god, _another_ fanboy, seriously, hyung?"

 

"I'm not his fanboy," Changmin snaps and almost adds _I'm his everything_ , but wow, that's really presumptuous and not very sane. So he composes himself and tries again. "I need to talk to you."

 

Apprehensive, Yunho gives a well-mannered little bow and reaches for the handle again. Junsu opens the door for him. "We're actually on our way to an event but if you have any questions or concerns about JY2, you can write to—"

 

Changmin kicks the door closed, trapping Yunho outside.

 

"No," he grits out, frustrated. "I have to talk to you."

 

Shit, he sounds psycho and he's speaking informally and the one thing Yunho doesn't appreciate or tolerate from strangers is excessive rudeness and Changmin is technically a stranger—

 

"One time," he says desperately, not looking at Yunho, "you accidentally gave Taepoong chocolate and you took him to the emergency room and the doctor yelled at you because Taepoongie was fine but you exposed all those sick people to dog germs—"

 

Words keep spilling out and a part of Changmin wants to shut the fuck up but the other part, the part that can't handle Yunho treating him like a stranger, is louder, stronger, completely relentless.

 

"You squeeze toothpaste from the middle," he says, hands trembling, eyes trained on a dirty patch of snow by the lamppost. "You don't hang up your coat. Your socks never match. You found one gray hair when you were seventeen and now you check every month—"

 

There's a whole database turning on in Changmin's brain; every little detail he wasn't even aware he'd cataloged comes out, so he finally manages to force himself to look up.

 

Yunho's watching him.

 

It's a strange, contemplative look, equal parts freaked out and intrigued and Changmin knows what it means _._

 

Encouraged, he offers Yunho a tentative smile.

 

Yunho opens his mouth slowly.

 

"Who's Taepoong."

 

Changmin's stomach drops.

 

"Oh god," Junsu says, struggling out of the car and trying to pull Yunho in. "He's a sasaeng."

 

"Why always me," Yunho mutters, fingers digging into Junsu's jacket.

 

Junsu slips a protective arm around Yunho's waist and gives Changmin a disapproving glare.

 

Changmin watches, gut churning.

 

Nope.

 

He can't do this.

 

He can't do this life.

 

So he puts all the sincerity he's capable of into a single, "Yunho... ssi, _please_."

 

Yunho's ears twitch. "Look, no offense, but—"

 

"I know everything about you," Changmin says and flinches at how it sounds. "I... I don't know how to explain what happened or how to fix it, I just... I know you sleep like a starfish—"

 

"—so does everyone who's seen Family Outing," Yunho snaps.

 

Changmin meets his eyes.

 

Okay, this is better.

 

This is familiar.

 

"I know your favorite foods and songs and movies," Changmin says. "I know the book you keep in your nightstand is an acting manual—"

 

Yunho's eyes widen imperceptibly.

 

"...I'm gonna call the cops," Junsu nods to himself and pulls out his phone.

 

Yunho lowers Junsu's hand with a shake of his head. "It's fine. He's just a kid." He turns to Changmin. "Look, this is... flattering?" He makes a face. "But I'm straight. I don't—"

 

"I know _that_ , too," Changmin growls.

 

Yunho blinks. "So, you're not trying to—"

 

Changmin scrunches up his nose and lowers his hoodie. "What, no. Gross."

 

Yunho's brows draw together.

 

"Then what the hell do you _want_ ," Junsu demands.

 

Changmin doesn't know.

 

He really has no fucking idea.

 

But he needs to talk to Yunho.

 

He needs him to fix this.

 

Yunho can fix anything.

 

"I just need to tell you something," Changmin falters. "In private."

 

Yunho stares for a long moment.

 

"Okay," he says finally.

 

Junsu makes a mournful face, pockets his phone, and slides back into the car, grumbling, "Oh, great, we're gonna find you in some basement and your head will be in the fridge and your legs will be sliced up into little stew cubes—"

 

"Junsu-yah," Yunho says with warm affection, bending to his face-level, "are you hungry?"

 

"A little."

 

Yunho grins at him and says, "Go have breakfast. I'll meet up with everyone later."

 

Junsu glances at his watch. "Hyungs are probably still out drinking, so it's just gonna be me and you."

 

Yunho's smile widens. "Just me and you."

 

Something awful and petty and terrifying squeezes Changmin's heart tight.

 

Junsu casts a suspicious look at him, then slams the door closed, and taps the driver's shoulder.

 

"Okay," Yunho says when the van drives off. "You have five minutes."


End file.
